Candlelight
by DarkHorseBlueSky
Summary: They're victors. They're survivors. But they're not safe. No one ever is, really. (Sequel to Fighting Fire. Includes several different story arcs and oneshots, various genres. Canon and OC pairings.)


**And…I'm back. Finally. With this series of random oneshots and story arcs that you guys wanted. I know, I know…I should be working on anything **_**but **_**this…but seriously, I'm going on this random "publish-stories-that-I-haven't-written-the-rest-of-and-will-most-definitely-come-back-to-bite-me-in-the-butt" streak. Nightlight Shine Bright, Death's Embrace, Legends of Awesomeness, From Fanfiction Writers, Night Whispers… (though I think it's pretty safe to say that I've quit the last one and am thoroughly screwed with the third and second last).**

**Anywho. Here it is.**

**What you've been waiting for.**

**The first oneshot.**

* * *

**The Wait**

The door to the dim room opened, letting in a stream of warm yellow light. A shadow fell across its path and a man stepped in, his dress shoes echoing against the cold metal floors and walls. He was tall, lean, and young, twenty-one to be exact. His suit was pressed and his honey-blond hair combed. His eyes, in contrast, were manic blue and wary, like he had a constant fear of something jumping out at him.

"Mom?" he whispered, reluctant to break the dusty silence.

The woman in the shadows, sitting up in bed, turned her gray-haired head. She clasped her thin, frail hands in her lap and her unfocused, once-blue eyes were clouded and pale. She was not yet fifty, but her sun-deprived face was already lined with wrinkles.

"Mom," Petronius repeated, closing the door and kneeling by her side.

Aurienne Lyre did not make a sound, but she had heard him. Her hand went up and clumsily touched Petronius's cheek, probing the face she had once been able to see so clearly. It broke Petronius's heart, seeing the empty fear in his mother's all-but-blind eyes, those eyes that looked upon the horrors and poverty of war one too many times for such fragile psyche and had instantly condemned themselves and their owner to darkness, to waste away as a mere shell of the lively, beautiful woman she had once been. Resigned to a life in a small, cold, unfurnished room, with lights that were never turned on and a window whose heavy black curtains were never drawn back.

For days — weeks — months — years had Petronius begged for this day, when he would see his mother face to face for the first time since the war. Each time, denied. Until today…perhaps persistence did pay off.

Or perhaps not.

"It's me," he whispered. "Petronius. Your son. Don't you remember me, Mom?"

She showed no sign that she did, only stared blankly into his.

He blinked, trying to keep the tears away. "Petronius Artolian Lyre. Remember? You named me after your grandfather. You remember Great-Granddad, don't you? He…he used to tell us stories. Of the world before the first war. He never, ever watched the Hunger Games. He hated them."

Petronius looked down at his and her hands, intertwined. One pair wiry and strong, the other pair thin and weak. "I was in a Hunger Games," he whispered. "I don't know if they told you, but…the children, twenty-four of us, were taken away and put in an arena by the rebels. Paityn is okay," he added quickly, noting the slight tension running through his mother's frail fingers. "They let her go. Too young. She's safe now. A…a woman named Verbena Everdeen takes care of her. Katniss Everdeen's mother. Paityn loves her, but she misses you more. She's nine years old now, Mom. She wants you to come to her tenth birthday party. But…she knows you can't…she understands."

He closed his eyes, only to feel her fingers caressing his face again. _What about you? _she seemed to ask, only she didn't.

"I…I was a tribute," he whispered. "A tribute representative. I was eighteen back then, Mom. And…I won. But I didn't…I didn't win.

"People died, Mom, and I killed some of them. I killed Amadeus and Augusta, my own cousins. I didn't mean to, really. I wish I could've stopped it, but I couldn't. Another tribute…a girl, fourteen years old, did.

"Her name was Artemis. Artemis Gossamer, the Treasurer's daughter. Before the Games began, she made a device that could control the arena. She was going to use it to save all of us, but the rebels found out and took it away before she could use it. But she wouldn't give up. She helped us, Mom, she helped _me. _She formed an alliance and tried to save us.

"Then one of the Gamemakers, Beetee Latier — he was a victor, from District 3 — he realized what Artemis was trying to do and agreed, that no more tributes should have to die. He tried to give her the control disk, but he gave it to the wrong person. A boy, Caius Angelico. The Vice President's son. I thought that Caius was against us, and that he only wanted to win for himself, but I was wrong. Caius used the disk to save us, and then he gave it back to Artemis so she could get us out. And she did, Mom. She got us out, and then she bargained with the rebels and convinced them to let us go. She had them sign a deal that said we're safe. You're safe, Mom. Me, and Paityn, and Dad — we're safe now."

Aurienne Lyre said nothing.

Petronius bit the side of his cheek and resisted the automatic impulse to clench his fists. "Don't you know, Mom? We're safe. You don't have to hide." A tear traced its way down his cheek. "Can't you hear me?"

She showed no sign that she did. Petronius lowered his head, trying and failing to keep himself from crying.

"I met a girl," he whispered. "She was my stylist. Juno Garrison."

He looked up and met Aurienne's unfocused gaze. "I fell in love, Mom."

There was a slight brightening in her misty eyes, and so, he continued.

"She's so beautiful, Mom. I wish you could see her. I'm going to propose to her tonight. I have the ring in my pocket. Look." He reached into his pants pocket and drew out the tiny, velvet-covered blue box. When he opened it, the diamond caught the dim light and seemed to almost shimmer. "Isn't it pretty? I'm going to dinner tonight, and I'm going to give it to her."

Carefully, he closed the box and put it back in his pocket. "And Paityn found out. I don't even know if there will be a wedding, but she already wants to be the flower girl.

"Dad…Daddy wants you to come. He wants to dance with you during the wedding songs.

"Don't you know, Mom?

"Paityn is nine years old. Dad misses you. I'm going to propose to my love. Can't you understand me?

"Can you even hear?"

Aurienne said nothing. Through the blur of his own tears, Petronius did not see the softening in her eyes or the trembling of her thin shoulders, but he did see as she reached forward and, with her thumb, gently brushed away his tears in the way only a mother can. She lifted his chin, then touched the back of his hand.

"Tell them I am waiting." Her wobbling, broken voice spoke their first words in over four years.

It was Petronius's turn to not say anything, and so, he didn't. He only looked away and nodded. Then he stood and, forcefully, purposefully, walked out of the room. He didn't look back.

* * *

Even an overjoyed Juno could tell that there was still something on his mind even after she said yes.

* * *

Nine months later, at their wedding, Petronius's eyes were for the most part on his new wife, but also searching. One look to his lonely father and somewhat dejected younger sister told him what he needed to know, but he wasn't satisfied.

It was after the wedding — Juno and Petronius took one last walk around the garden of the church where they had wed (yes, they had literally wed in the garden — neither of them were very conventional people at heart), just relaxing and watching the sunset. They were rounding the corner when they saw a small shaded glade, in which was a stone bench and a frail woman in a blue dress and a large blue hat.

"Mom?" Petronius dared to call.

The woman lifted her head, peering out from under the brim of her hat. "Petronius?"

She looked at him, in his tuxedo, and then at Juno. The bride was, of course, dressed in white — folds of the silky material fell about her in the style of a Roman princess, held in place by silver clips and a white girdle. Her golden hair was pinned up in a silver comb and a flowing veil. Simple but elegant, just how Juno liked it.

"You were right," Aurienne said, her voice a whisper. "She is beautiful."

Juno blushed. "Why thank you, Mrs. Lyre," she said. She looked at her husband. "Petro, you told me your mother wasn't coming."

He fumbled to regain his tongue. "She — she wasn't," he stammered. "I mean, she said…she said that she would be waiting if we ever wanted to see her…"

A smile pecked at the corner of Aurienne's lips, and for a few stunning seconds the shell seemed to fall away and reveal the lively young woman who had once been. Perhaps the war and its desolation had not completely taken hold of her.

"I got sick of waiting," she explained.

* * *

**Really? So did I, Aurienne! High five!**

**Aurienne: What is a "high five"?**

**Me: …forget it.**

**Yeah, basically, that's what happened. I got sick of waiting, so I typed out a random thing and you are now reading it. I didn't want you guys to forget me and I began to notice that my follow-numbers were decreasing with alarming speed…I only got one review for the bonus chapter…**

**I have a longer story-arc in the making, so just hold your horses. It's completely Caiamis-centric and I'm sure you'll love it. Ten chapters, estimated…I dunno. We'll have to wait and see. So far, I'm on chapter five. Might take a while.**

**Review otherwise I will give Petronius coffee and Paityn red fruit punch and send the hyperactive results after you.**

**Paityn: Punch? YUMMY! GIMME GIMME GIMME! (as is typical for a nine-year-old)**

**Petronius: Coffee? YUMMY! GIMME GIMME GIMME! (as is very much not typical for a twenty-one-year-old)**

**Me: That is…weird… O.O**


End file.
